


Kiss?

by clotpolesonly



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Asexual Derek Hale, Boundary Negotiations, M/M, Stiles is a supportive boyfriend, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, ace-related guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-10 06:04:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7833172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clotpolesonly/pseuds/clotpolesonly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek likes kissing Stiles, honestly he does. Until he doesn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss?

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this idea kicking around in my head for a long time, probably since back when I was still working out my own boundaries and preferences as an asexual with a non-ace boyfriend. And since I just got finished with two long angst-ridden fics (one of which hasn't been revealed yet but has some serious Derek!whump), I figured I owed myself some shameless fluff and healthy supportiveness. So here you go, some completely self-indulgent happiness thrown together in like two hours. ^_^

They were curled up together on Derek’s couch, the television on low in the background and completely ignored, when it finally happened. They had been kissing for a while, nothing fervent or purposeful, just languid kissing brought on by a lazy afternoon and nothing better to do. Well, to be fair, they could have been actually watching the show. But Stiles liked kissing and seemed to find that an equally entertaining pastime, and Derek didn’t mind indulging him. Usually.

But this time, halfway through yet another of those kisses he always liked so much, Stiles pulled back to frown at him.

“What’s up?” he asked.

Derek frowned back. “Nothing. Why?”

Stiles narrowed his eyes at him. “You just seem a little out of it today. You feeling alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Derek said with a shrug. It wasn’t a hundred percent true, but it was _mostly_ true and that was good enough for him. He could feel the wetness from Stiles’ tongue—the tongue he was quite fond of, most times—on his upper lip and resisted the urge to wipe it away.

Stiles scooted back, putting some distance between them and peering at him even more skeptically. “I don’t know, man, you’re kind of giving off a weird vibe right now. Like an uncomfortable kind of vibe. Did I do something?”

The hint of worry in Stiles’ voice, wondering what he had done wrong when he hadn’t done anything at all—nothing they hadn’t done a million times before, at least—sent guilt crashing through Derek.

“No! No, everything’s fine,” he said immediately, reaching for Stiles’ hand.

Stiles let him take it but he was still frowning, obviously unconvinced and watching him closely. Derek shifted in his seat, casting around for what he could say to make Stiles stop looking like that, like he was in the wrong when Derek was the one being stupid.

“I’m fine, just...come back over here and kiss me,” he said, trying to tug Stiles half-onto his lap again like he had been earlier.

Stiles resisted, though. He bit his lip for a minute, rolling it between his teeth, and normally that made Derek want to pull it between his own but at the moment that didn’t seem appealing in the least. It must have shown on his face; he heard Stiles sigh.

“Derek, do you actually want me to do that?” he asked, sounding—of all things—disappointed. “Or are you just saying it because you know _I_ want that?”

Derek opened his mouth to protest, to say that of _course_ he wanted that and why wouldn’t he want that, but the words got stuck in his throat. He was still very conscious of how wet his lips were, chilled in the cool air of the loft, and this time he couldn’t ignore it. The way Stiles eyes followed the motion when he wiped it away made his stomach turn over.

“Derek!” Stiles said, halfway between a scold and a complaint. “Why would you let me kiss you all the time if you don’t actually like me kissing you?”

“I do like kissing you!” Derek protested, saying it again when Stiles scoffed in disbelief. “I _do_ , I swear. Most of the time I love it, I just… Sometimes it…”

“Sometimes you like kissing me and sometimes you don’t?”

Stiles sounded confused, a little dubious, and honestly Derek couldn’t blame him for that. It made no sense, he knew that much. There was no rhyme or reason to it, no logical explanation. It was just like a flip got switched some days and there was nothing he could do about it but ignore the discomfort that hung low in his gut and pretend everything was normal and fine.

“Wait, does this happen often?” Stiles demanded, eyebrows pulling down into a tight V.

Derek ran both hands down his face, too miserable to lie when Stiles had already caught him out. “Not _often_ ,” he said.

“But it does happen. And you just... _let_ me kiss you when you don’t want me to?”

Now Stiles almost sounded angry and Derek flinched, the guilt stabbing at him again and making him curl into himself.

“It’s fine,” he said. “It’s not a big thing.”

Stiles threw his hands up in the air. “It _is_ a big thing, Derek! Your happiness and comfort are _big things_ , and you can’t compromise those just so I can get a little tongue action.”

“I’m sorry?” Derek tried, wanting to go back in time and make the last ten minutes never happen; his stupid _thing_ had ruined everything and made it tense and unhappy when they should’ve been having a nice afternoon.

Stiles let out a groan and threw himself face down onto Derek’s lap. Derek stared down at him, hands pulled up out of the way because Stiles was mad and he didn’t know what to do about it but didn’t want to make it worse somehow. After an awkward minute, Stiles shuffled around to face the tv, head still pillowed on Derek’s thighs, and crossed his arms over his chest. Tentatively, Derek lowered his hands to rest on Stiles’ arm and Stiles didn’t brush him off, which was a good sign. He didn’t push though, just stayed quiet and waited for a cue.

“I’m not really mad at you,” Stiles said abruptly.

Derek opened his mouth to argue that because he still seemed pretty mad, but Stiles kept talking.

“I mean, I am,” he said, staring off in the direction of the tv in that way he did when he thought avoiding eye contact would make a conversation easier to have. “But I’m not. I’m mad that you never told me that you aren’t up for kissing me sometimes, and I’m mad at myself for not _noticing_ sooner that you weren’t always up for it, but I’m not mad at you for _not being up for it_. Okay?”

“Okay,” Derek said, even though he wasn’t entire sure he had understood that flood of words.

“You know I’m 110% supportive of you and your asexuality and your sex-repulsion, right?” Stiles asked, not stopping to wait for an answer. “So you should know that I don’t mind pulling it back when you need me to. You don’t owe me kisses all the time. Your boundaries are important and you need to tell me when they change, dude. We need to talk about these things. I never, ever want you to feel like you have to do things that make you uncomfortable just for my benefit. That’s not cool and it’ll only make both of us feel like shit in the end. Okay?”

Derek sighed. “Okay. I’m sorry.”

Stiles reached up to pull one of Derek’s hands down from his arm, aggressively cuddling it against his chest like a very unhappy child with a teddy bear.

“I love you a whole lot, you know that?” he said, thoroughly grumpy but undeniably sincere. “But I’m still a little mad at you. Let’s just watch tv and then go to bed. And we’ll talk about this more in the morning, don’t you think we won’t.”

Derek leaned down to press a kiss against Stiles’ temple. It wasn’t much of an apology, but some of the tension in Stiles’ body faded away and he nuzzled his cheek against Derek’s thigh.

Derek turned up the volume and settled in to wait out the storm.

 

* * *

 

 Derek had really hoped the whole issue would be forgotten by the next day, but he had no such luck. He was just pouring himself a mug of coffee when Stiles came bounding out of their bedroom, still in his pajamas and with his hair an absolute mess, bright eyed and smiling and apparently eager to face the day. It was barely ten o’clock in the morning on a Sunday and Derek was already tired just looking at him, but then that was hardly an unusual experience considering his boyfriend’s boundless energy.

Stiles came to lean against the kitchen counter next to him and clapped his hands together.

“Okay! Talking about this.”

Derek groaned; he had not had enough coffee for this. There wasn’t enough coffee in the world for this, really.

“Stiles, do we really have to—”

“Yes, Derek, we do,” he said, in all seriousness. “I told you yesterday: your boundaries are paramount. Neither of us get to ignore that.”

Derek turned away, a flush of shame creeping up the back of his neck no matter how hard he tried to force it down. It wasn’t that he was ashamed of his asexuality—Stiles had gone to amazing lengths to convince him that it was alright, that it was natural and there was nothing wrong with him, that he wasn’t depriving Stiles of anything—but this was different. It was such a small thing to make a huge fuss over. So he got a little queasy over kissing sometimes, so what? The rest of the time it was fun and that was what should matter.

Stiles followed him to the table in the breakfast nook, pulling his chair around so he could sit with his knees pressed up against Derek’s, tangling their bare feet together.

“Look, I’m sorry I got so upset yesterday,” he said. “I felt guilty about pressuring you into—”

“You didn’t,” Derek interrupted. “You’ve never pressured me into anything, Stiles. That isn’t what this is.”

“Isn’t it though? You didn’t feel comfortable speaking up and telling me that you didn’t want to kiss me yesterday. I initiated and you just went through the motions.” Stiles shook his head and he looked genuinely sad. “I don’t want that, Der.”

Derek pushed his mug to the center of the table, stomach too twisted up now to think about drinking anymore, and his fingers fell to his lap to tangle together in nervous knots. He opened his mouth but couldn’t think of anything to say, so he closed it again. He didn’t look up when Stiles’ hand came to rest on top of his, stilling them.

“It’s fine that you don’t want to sometimes,” Stiles said. “And I know you’re not big on words, especially not over small stuff like this, and you hate feeling like an inconvenience or whatever. But we need to work this out and I think I have an idea for how we can do that.”

Derek raised an eyebrow at him, intrigued in spite of himself. “How?”

Stiles bit his lip, his Thinking Face firmly in place.

“You said yesterday that most of the time you like kissing and then sometimes you just don’t,” he said, waiting for confirmation before continuing. “Well, on the days that you _don’t_ , why is that?”

Derek huffed. “I don’t know, Stiles. There’s no pattern to it or anything, it’s just random and there _is_ no why.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Derek, babe, I’m not looking for a philosophical treatise on the origins of carnal desire here. I mean, on those days, what is it about the kissing specifically that turns you off? What about kissing do you like some days and not others? What about it bothers you?”

Without thinking about it, Derek reached up to thumb at his bottom lip. “It’s just...it’s _wet_ ,” he finally said, cringing even as the lame words came out of his mouth. “It’s wet and messy and invasive, and normally that’s fine. I mean, it doesn’t get me hot and bothered like it does you, but I like it well enough.”

“But other times, all the spitty bits gross you out?”

Derek made a face. “Well, when you say it like that, it’ll always gross me out,” he said. “But essentially yes.”

Stiles nodded like that was what he had expected. He still had Derek’s hand in his, rubbing his thumb back and forth over Derek’s palm. It was a very soothing gesture, the sort of simple, gentle touch that Derek loved more than anything else. Derek focused on that instead of on the irrational nervousness that Stiles’ silences always engendered in him.

Finally Stiles nodded again, more decisively, and said, “I can definitely work with that.”

“Work with what how?”

Stiles jumped up from his seat, clapping his hands together again and then making finger guns.

“Okay, big guy, here is what we’re going to do!” He was grinning from ear to ear and looking immensely pleased with himself, which was usually cause for alarm in Derek’s experience. “We are going to implement a system.”

Derek stared a bit. “A system,” he repeated, nonplussed. “And what kind of system is this, may I ask?”

“You most certainly may, my good sir,” Stiles said magnanimously. “So you said it’s the wetness and invasiveness that bothers you, right? Well some kinds of kisses are more wet and invasive than other kinds of kisses. So it stands to reason that you would be more bothered by those kinds of kisses than other ones. Maybe some days are worse than others and you just can’t stand kisses at all—totally fine, by the way—and other days you’re down for, like, quick affectionate kisses but not make-out sessions—equally fine—so what if we had a system in place where you could let me know what you’re feeling up for at any given time? Quickly, efficiently, and most importantly, with as few words as possible because we all know how much you hate using words.”

Derek stared a bit more until everything filtered into his brain and started making sense. Then he leaned back in his chair with a thoughtful noise. Stiles was prancing on the spot, leaping back and forth from one foot to the other in his eagerness, waiting for Derek’s judgement.

“Just for clarification,” Derek said. “You want to rank our kisses?”

Stiles wiggled a hand back and forth. “Eh, I wouldn’t say _rank_. More like a rating! You know how movies can be PG or R and neither is better or worse, it’s just a way to signify the kind of content the movie contains?”

Derek nodded.

“This rating would signify whether the kiss contains NC-17-style tongue action or not. So like— Come here.”

Stiles swooped in to take Derek by the hands and drag him to his feet, nearly tripping over his own in the process. He pulled Derek close, wrapping arms around his waist, and Derek melted into the familiar embrace. Stiles was smiling and bright-eyed with excitement over this idea, this ridiculous idea he had come up with just to make Derek the slightest bit more comfortable in their interactions, and it hit Derek hard in that moment just how much he loved this man. His chest hurt with the force of it, and it must have shown on his face because Stiles’ wide grin softened a bit and he reached up to rub his thumb over the line of Derek’s jaw.

“Kisses are primarily a way to show affection for you,” Stiles said, sound pretty darn affectionate himself. “And it doesn’t have to be hot and heavy to do that. So a level one kiss could be something like…”

Stiles waited, expression expectant, until Derek realized he was looking for permission to demonstrate. Feeling warm all over, Derek nodded and got a beaming smile in return. Then Stiles leaned in to press their lips together. It was just for a second, but Stiles rubbed their noses together as he pulled back.

“Level one,” he said matter-of-factly. “Quick, sweet, and most importantly, dry. Very G-rated, suitable for even your most kiss-averse days.”

Derek shook his head, but he was smiling and couldn’t seem to stop.

“Alright. So what’s level two?”

“One step up,” Stiles said. “Some light lip action but no tongues involved. Rated PG, still very kid friendly. May I?”

“You may.”

Stiles kissed him again and this time he lingered, lips sliding softly against Derek’s. This was the sort of kiss Derek could sink into, the kind he felt he could live inside and never come out of. Sadly, it only lasted a few seconds this time before Stiles pulled back, chuckling at the disappointed sound Derek made.

“You like level two,” he said, and Derek could only nod. “Good to know, good to know. Now level three steps things up again, going PG-13 now."

Again, he waited for Derek’s permission to demonstrate. This one was deeper, mouths meeting and parting and meeting once more, the tip of Stiles’ tongue dancing along the seam of Derek’s lips but not pushing for entrance. It was nice, close and intimate in that way that satisfied something deep inside Derek that he couldn’t find a way to name, but this time Derek was the first to pull back.

Stiles reached up to run his thumb over Derek’s bottom lip, wiping away the moisture left behind from the kiss. “Sorry.”

Derek’s head spun with how very _cared for_ it made him feel that Stiles knew exactly what he needed, what he was feeling, and how to give it to him. He caught Stiles hand in his and pressed a kiss to his knuckles, too overwhelmed for words. Not that words were his forte to begin with—that had always been Stiles’ arena—but he could usually muster up a _thank you_ when he needed to. Now this was all he could manage, but Stiles understood. Of course he did, he always did, so why had he ever doubted how Stiles would react to this?

“Level four is some real hot and heavy stuff,” Stiles said, tone light and teasing. “Full on snogging, to quote the Brits. You don’t seem up for it today but I think you get the picture.”

“Yes, Stiles, I get the picture.”

“Good. Now we’ve got four levels of kisses depending on your comfort level at any given moment,” Stiles said. “So when I am struck with the desperate desire to shower you with my love—a very common urge, I’ll have you know—then I will get you right where I want you—here, all wrapped up in my arms where you belong, in case you were at all unsure—and I’ll ask: kiss?” He made an exaggerated kissy face. “And then you just give me a number. Or you say no because it’s totally cool if you’re not in a kissy mood at all. Got it?”

“Got it.”

Stiles’ cheeks had to be hurting from how much he was smiling, but Derek’s were too so he couldn’t blame him for that. There was a minute of contented swaying, just wrapped up in each other, sharing the same warm space and basking in the late morning sunlight streaming through the large bank of windows that made up the loft’s back wall. Then Stiles gave him a little shake, digging his fingers into Derek’s sides and making him squirm because he was evil that way and liked to take advantage of Derek’s super secret ticklish spots.

“Soooo,” he said, drawing it out obnoxiously. He raised one eyebrow. “Kiss?”

Derek pretended to think about it, humming. Finally, as if he hadn’t known his answer from the start, he said, “Two.”

Stiles nodded decisively, “Two, coming right up.”

It was perfect, everything that Derek needed and nothing he didn’t, and Derek had a startling moment of clarity; he wanted this for the rest of his life. He wanted Stiles forever. He didn’t say that—they had only been together for a few months, it was far too early to be talking about forever—but he wouldn’t lie to himself about it. Stiles was so beyond anything that Derek had ever expected to have in his life and some days he couldn’t _believe_ how lucky he was.

Stiles’ eyes were bright and golden in the light when he pulled back, eyes crinkling at the corners with the force of his grin. He pressed one more kiss to the corner of Derek’s mouth and then took his hand, towing him to the couch and dragging him down onto it. He cuddled up to Derek’s side, wrapping both arms around Derek’s waist and tucking his head up under Derek’s chin with a little happy noise, and Derek had to blink away sudden tears of gratitude.

He cleared his throat. “I love you a whole lot, you know that?” he said into Stiles’ hair, almost a whisper because he didn’t trust his voice not to break under the force of the emotion welling in his throat.

Stiles laced their fingers together against his chest and gave his hand a squeeze.

“I love you too, Derek. Every last bit of you. More than enough to know that we can make it work, no matter what. Don’t forget that.”

Derek swore to himself that he never would. He would never doubt Stiles again. No matter how much his insecurities and his guilt complex nagged at him, Derek wouldn’t let them get in the way of this wonderful, amazing, _perfect_ thing they had.

Stiles wriggled a single finger from his free hand into the tight space between them just to poke at Derek’s ribs, earning an indignant noise from him. Derek pinched him in retaliation, but Stiles just laughed and snatched the tv remote from the coffee table. He turned onto some silly sitcom and nuzzled his cheek against Derek’s chest. Derek ruffled his hair and settled in for a nice, lazy afternoon.


End file.
